


Dead Comfort

by DredPirateBones



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Father-Son Relationship, Other, Vampire Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Werewolf Jesse McCree, because there isn't enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12584232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DredPirateBones/pseuds/DredPirateBones
Summary: Sometimes we just need to be held.





	Dead Comfort

He can’t remember the last time he did this. Was it five years ago--fifteen? The abyssal shadows clinging to the stone walls used to scare him but now they feel as familiar to him as his own tail. His body aches with healed wounds and the phantom pain of the silver bullet taking a chunk out of his hip. There's mud in his hair and on his boots: splatters of it reaching up to his knees like grasping fingers. He can smell the dried blood on his clothes and thanks his stars that the coat is leather.

 

The castle is dead along with its master yet the man still moves beneath it. 

 

McCree walks the halls; sidestepping the stones he knows are weak as he makes his way to the only set of stairs that will lead all the way down to the lowest level. The archway is nothing special, there’s no extra engravings or ornamentation to set it apart from the others and the shadows are just as deep. McCree’s eyes are almost closed and his heels drag. His spurs clinked loudly with each stomping step down. Each blink feels like it will be the last time he fights to keep his eyes open--opting to navigate these halls with them closed instead. 

 

The light from the moon can’t reach down the steps. McCree stops and forces his pupils to dilate until he can see again before he keeps moving.

 

The stairs don’t open up into the lower floors nor does it stop at the basement. It keeps going and so does he. At the bottom of the stairs is a small room--a closet, really--big enough for the black coffin and not much else. McCree can’t summon the energy to give the lid a firm knock and simply claws at the polished wood pleadingly. The paint peels under his nails and leaves thicker marks amongst the thinner, older, ones that he made when he was a puppy and afraid of being left alone. 

 

The lid creaks open before he can draw his claws down a fourth time. Gabriel looks up at him with groggy eyes and a disgruntled set to his jaw. The look softens a moment later.

 

“Jesse.” He mumbles and reaches up to cup the back of McCree’s neck gently. No matter the body, four legged or two, the feeling remains the same. Somehow, when Gabriel scruffs him, it doesn’t feel like a dominating gesture: it feels protective. McCree’s shoulders slump and his head falls forward with exhaustion. 

 

“Rough day?” Gabriel asks. McCree whines: too tired to speak. When the tug comes, he follows it and collapses against the vampire’s chest. Gabriel doesn’t seem to mind that he has to manhandle the werewolf the rest of the way into his coffin so he can close the lid. McCree tucks himself underneath Gabriel’s chin and curls his long limbs into as tight as a ball as the coffin will allow him. 

 

McCree can’t remember the last time he did this but when Gabriel’s fingers card through his filthy hair and his wide hand pets down his back, he comes to the firm belief that he will never grow too old to go to his father for comfort.


End file.
